


Fade To Grey

by AshesToFrost



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:30:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5187059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshesToFrost/pseuds/AshesToFrost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet another fanfic of the 'missing scenes' in Season 6, Episode 8. Referenced from personal experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fade To Grey

**Author's Note:**

> My own take on the scenes that should have been. I hope anyone who reads it, enjoys. ^^

Another letter; another rejection. Decision had really settled in his stomach before he had even read it, but this had set the lid on the matter.  
Tomorrow, Thomas Barrow would end cut his ties with this world.  
Having eaten nothing, he followed suit as Carson stood, and placed his chair, gently, back at the table. Whatever was being said went straight over his head, and he registered Mr Bates standing opposite, talking, in his gentle, self-assured tone.  
Any remark he would have uttered in malicious response fell away into nothing, and Thomas carefully placed the last letter he would receive back into its envelope.  
"Good news?"  
_Baxter_  
Of course. The little amount of hope he had left - a small, warm candle to his growing winter. _Too late to stop that arrival now_.  
"Not exactly"  
He handed the letter over. It wasn't exactly a lie, either. Thomas wouldn't have said it was awful news, considering it as the bolt in his coffin, but it was, after all, another rejection.  
Walking over to her, he listened to her feathery-soft voice read out his death sentence. How could one woman make it seem so... _kind_ , when he had read it as callous?  
'Overqualified' seemed to seal his fate. If he was either too experienced, or lacking in experience, he really saw no other way forward.  
He'd have liked to have pretended it was that simple.  
"...but please accept our best wishes for the future"  
She smiled like an unconditionally loving mother, did Phyllis. Thomas was almost glad he wouldn't see her face for much longer - he would no longer be burden to this woman. It was his choice to die, and he _would_ achieve it. Taking his letter back, he couldn't stop himself from releasing a bitter, quiet cry for recognition.  
"What future?"  
"Oh, don't be silly"  
That was the straw. She had too much faith in his strength, his walls that he had learnt to build up around him, that Baxter didn't see when they were crumbled to dust.  
"Of course, that's right. Silly, aren't I?"  
He should have expected this reaction. It was almost a relief, for his decision to remain private. "Silly old me"  
Thomas left, grateful that he wasn't followed. 

*

That evening, when he had heard the kitchen serving night time drinks, he pondered on the discussion that had occurred at lunch. _Poetic,_ was the word. _Lyrical_.  
Is that what it would be like?  
Thomas had heard of poems about death. Depicting such an absence of life as beautiful would have seemed questionable to him some time ago but now? Now Thomas hoped it would be beautiful.  
He sat in silence, and watched his room. It would, after all, be the last time he ever spent considerable time in it.  
_Goodbye,_ he thought. _Goodbye, my final, flawed home_.

 *

The next morning, he arose early, preparing himself. Everything had to be perfect - he would have no other chance to ensure it. Yet on his chest was a terrible weight. Now it came to the day, the time couldn't come soon enough. His unhappiness was at its peak despite his overall calm, and had he been a person with less self-control, he would have succumbed there and then. But he did not.  
He still had goodbyes to give.

*

Downstairs, at breakfast, he kept himself to himself. Everyone's voices became nothing, and washed off him lighter than dried autumn leaves. Carson would be glad to be rid of him. They all would.  
He would be glad to be rid of _himself_.  
Sudden, hot water pricked between his eyelids, and he blinked them away hastily. Now was _not_ the time for tears, not in _company_.  
As they rose to leave for the day, he got up slower than the rest. Took his time to allow his fingertips to linger on the wood. The chair would serve another from tomorrow onwards, and that was that.  
Thomas moved to go upstairs, and paused. Moseley was there.  
He took his chance.  
"Mr Moseley?"  
"Yes, Mr Barrow?"  
He seemed surprised at being addressed; surprised, mostly likely, at being addressed in a kinder tone than anyone was used to from Thomas Barrow.  
"I only wanted to wish you luck in your teaching. I hope you make something good of your life"  
Thomas gave a small smile, and Mr Moseley blinked, and looked away, before nodding.  
"Oh. Well, thank you, Mr Barrow"  
Thomas was already walking away. His final remark left his lips before he could seal them.  
"More than I will ever make of mine, Mr Moseley"  
  


*

Once alone, his emotions crashed down upon him. Stifling his sobs, he rubbed at his eyes, chest heaving. He didn't want to go. Or, he wanted someone to show him some sort of kindness before he did leave, so his final chapter would feel finished. Thomas had felt so dreadfully empty as of late, and this last walk upstairs brought the brunt of his feelings back to full force.  
There was nothing left for him. Nothing at all. Not his family, not his work, not himself. He was worse than a burden. He was a curse.  
Each step brought on more thoughts, and it was all he could do to stop his eyes overflowing with tears.  
_Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, good-_

Reaching the top, his path was blocked by an unexpected miscalculation.  
Anna. And Baxter.  
Thomas froze like a naughty child, at first, before moving slightly out of the way, and standing fully upright.  
He must have looked dreadful, because Anna tilted her head, and leant forward slightly in an upbeat, friendly concern.  
"Are you alright, Mr Barrow?"  
"Of course" This was not a lie. He was alright. Whatever he thought was suffering was nothing compared to what he had caused to those around him. Plus, it was so much easier to lie. Thomas Barrow: the invisible villain. Soon to be gone. "Why wouldn't I be?"  
Anna made a non-committal noise, and went on her way. Feeling Baxter's eyes on him, he walked, glancing at her in a colder expression than intended, slowing only to open the door to the men's quarters.  
_I'm sorry Phyllis. Tell her I'm sorry, tell my sister I'm sorry._

Thomas walked toward a bathroom in the men's quarters, taking in everything he saw. He didn't want to forget every detail - it seemed bizzare how such a beautiful house now seemed... _more_ beautiful, in a different way. On death's door, knowing with all his certainty that he would never return, every crack, every flaw on the walls appeared more friendly and beautiful than the grand style of the upper-class parts. Each imperfection told a story. Many more would come, happier ones, without him.  
Hearing footsteps again, Thomas paused, composing himself. It was Andy.  
"Are you alright, Mr Barrow?"  
_If anyone else asked him that again_ \- but of course they wouldn't. He was almost there. Thomas nodded.  
"Yes, Andy. I'm just going to take a bath"  
"Alright. I'll see you later, then?"  
"Of course"  
_You'll see me. I just won't see you. I'm sorry, Andy, if you find me. It's for the best. But of course, you know that._  
Andy moved out of Thomas's way, and he brushed lightly against his side as he passed. Another goodbye.  
It took him a few short strides before he was at the door. Taking a deep breath, Thomas entered, and closed it behind him. He began to run the bath right away, not wanting a dwell on how grey, and boring it was. How dead.  
It wasn't beautiful at all. It was a bath. In a room. So dull. Almost revolting.

Thomas removed his clothing, leaving on only his undergarments. It wouldn't do to be found dead, and completely unclothed. Either of the two would be enough of a shock to whoever was unfortunate enough to discover his body.  
He hung up his clothes, neatly and precisely. He had all the time in the world; well, the rest of his life. His room had been put in order, and everything was orderly.  
He stopped the flow of water.  
Getting in, Thomas retrieved the razor blade he had brought with him since the morning.  
The sight of the metal, the sharp edge that would end him, caused him to finally break into full sobbing. He didn't want to to it, not really, and yet, there was nothing else for him. Downton had treated him with more acceptance than he could expect from many other places he could work, and yet it was like living in hell. Mr Carson had made his life a misery recently, And everyone else had been distant from him in response to his personality, mostly.  
He had no job, and no prospects of one. His family wouldn't have wanted him, and he had nowhere else to go.  
If this was how life would continue, he wanted no part in it. He could have no part in it. Thomas Barrow's spirit was broken. Continuing any longer would make him into a walking corpse.  
He was ready.  
Thomas wiped his cheeks, and held the blade in his hand, guiding it across his left arm, calmly. As his wrist began to bleed, a tear fell from his eye. He swapped the blade, holding it tighter. Blood had began to spread over his left hand, making it harder to grip.  
He pushed across his right arm, and then relaxed. _It was done._  
Dropping the blade on the floor from his hand, he rested his arms in the water.  
The heat helped the flow increase, and it was not long before sleep tugged at his eyes. This is when it felt beautiful, as he floated away. As his world faded to grey, Thomas's last thought was of...Edward.  
_Would he be there?_  
He hoped so.  
Thomas really, really hoped...

* 

A sensation. On his forehead. Soft, caring. A hand?  
It brushed his hair. Stroked his face, tentative.  
He became aware of a voice. And with that, he became aware that he was... _alive_.  
He tried to move, but finding himself too weak, he settled for attempting to open his eyes. Thomas was too weak at that moment to properly process that he had failed, but he blinked a couple of times, and there was Baxter.  
And there came the full realisation.  
_Oh._  
He was alive. Not dead. _He had failed_.  
His eyes burned hot, and the woman frowned in gentle concern, realising he was awake.  
"Sshh, don't try to move. It's alright, Mr Barrow. It's going to be alright"  
Is it?  
He shook, too weak to cry properly, but each second gave him a little more strength, enough to push himself up - and in a spell of dizziness, rest his head on his knees. He felt so sick.  
"What...time is it...?"  
His voice was so quiet. _How much blood have I lost, how close had it been?_  
Baxter rested a hand, gently, on his back.  
"Upstairs have just had theit lunch. You've been sleeping more than a day."  
Her voice was so soft, yet more strained than usual. _Had she been crying?_  
"Have you been crying, Miss Baxter?"  
Thomas's voice was stronger now.  
"Would that surprise you so much, Mr Barrow?" She paused, to softly run her hand through his hair. "Not everyone despises you here, as you think"  
Her voice wobbled at the last sentence. This sent Thomas into quiet crying, fully. He could not hold back the tirade of emotions that drowned him - not in his state, and not in the company of someone who could so easily say she cared for him, after so long of feeling utterly dispensable. He took deep, shaky breaths, his chest shuddering with intensity.  
Anna entered the room to see Thomas sobbing desperately, leaning slightly on Baxter, and took a seat on the bed. Thomas had a long time before he would be stable again.  
  


* 

Reading was a good distraction. Becoming mentally involved in other's affairs took the shock away from him still being alive. Holding the book in one hand, and resting his other on the orange, he felt moderately... _able_.  
There came a knock at the door, and Anna entered, a soft smile in her expression. Thomas put his book and orange down, and looked up.  
"Lady Mary is to be married tomorrow, and everyone will be attending. She wanted me to extend the invitation to you personally, in case you felt up to it"  
Anna appeared hopeful herself. Lady Mary was dear to her, and she wouldn't want her to be disappointed, but he sensed there was...more to it, than that.  
_Of course_. If everyone was attending, he would be left alone. And she didn't want him to be left alone, considering what he had attempted.  
Thomas couldn't prevent a smile on his expression. Lady Mary to be married to Henry Talbot. His delight was obvious.  
Looking at his bedsheets in thought, he weighed up the options. If he was still too weak, he could sit down. And a wedding was a positive event, which was something he would appreciate being present for.  
"Tell her ladyship I shall be there. I wouldn't want to miss such a poignant event"  
Smiling in relief, Anna nodded, and left him to his reading.  
  


* 

As Thomas watched the union between Lady Mary Crawley, and Henry Talbot, he thought on his own life.  
He could keep his job, for the time being.  
_He would live_ , for the time being.  
That was enough, for now. Healing would take longer, but for the present time, Thomas would live.  
And try, slowly, to piece himself together again.


End file.
